


A Forge for Steel

by DayStar



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I'm Bad At Summaries, Pre-Canon, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Undecided Relationship(s), Violence, Young Furiosa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayStar/pseuds/DayStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every good sword needs heat and pressure to become flexible and strong. Furiosa was given more than enough to become the steel that would be known as "Bag of Nails," Immortan Joe's trusted Imperator... and betrayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore the summary, I just can't with those things. So! A fic about Furiosa's life before and during the Mad Max: Fury Road movie. I honestly don't know what level of violence/sex/etc I'm going to be showing, so be wary for a change in the rating. I'll let ya know beforehand! Same with relationships! If I missed/forgot any canon stuff, let me know! Comments, critiques, compliments and kudos are all welcome here, and thanks for reading.

_My world is sand and heat and pain. The sun is death, and when death comes it bleaches your bones until they begin to crumble. People are also death, and when they come they rip you apart until not even your bones are left. I know this. But once, a long time ago, I knew a different truth. There was something else. Something more._

_It was not a dream._

Beneath her calloused palms, the sand was hot but not unbearable, and she let it trickle through her fingers with fidgeting impatience, careless of the dusty streaks it left on her skin and clothing. Katie wouldn’t approve, but then again, Katie wasn’t going to be there today. Her mother was. Furiosa shifted at the thought, her stomach a hard knot of excitement and apprehension.

A shadow loomed over her, abruptly cooling the stare of the sun, and she looked up, breaking into a small, relieved smile when she saw who it was. “Valkyrie!” the young girl exclaimed, hurriedly leaping to her feet. “Didn’t know you weren’t gone!”

Her friend grinned in return, tanned face shining with sweat and happiness. Valkyrie almost never looked upset about anything, not even when they got in trouble, and somehow it made the fear in Furiosa’s stomach go away, just a bit. If Valkyrie, a year older than Furiosa, wasn’t afraid, then there was nothing to be afraid of.

“Jez isn’t feeling well, so I get a break,” Valkyrie said, her smile not fading one bit as she mentioned her sick initiate mother. Furiosa knew the two didn’t really get along – she also knew the fault wasn’t entirely Jez’s. Val could be a bit… much, sometimes. She was hard to keep up with, always jumping here and there, not really listening unless you were really, really serious or sad. Furiosa didn’t hold it against her at all.

“Lucky,” she commented, mouth thinning, foot kicking at a loose stone. She wished Mary would get sick. Not _sick_ sick. Just sick enough so they wouldn’t have to go out together today. Or tomorrow, maybe.  

Valkyrie arched an eyebrow. “You still getting all nervous about the roam? Silly, I told you it’s easy!”

“I know that, Val! I’m not _nervous._ It’s just -” She kicked the rock a bit more vindictively this time, sent it rolling away. “Mary’s kinda…” Scary, she might have said, except Val would have laughed and called her a flounderer. Instead Furiosa muttered, “Old.”

Her friend pursed her lips, gave a short nod. “Yeah, a little. You don’t get to be one of the Great Mothers by being young. She’s still your mom, though.”

Scowling at her feet, Furiosa didn’t get a chance to respond. Valkyrie reached over, gave her long brown hair a fond, gentle tug. “You’ll do great, Furi! Everyone says your Mary’s child, and y’know what?” Her smile grew into something secretive and uplifting at the same time. “I bet you’re gonna be _better_ than her when you’re grown up!”

Her grimace couldn’t withstand that ridiculous statement, and Furiosa smiled, wider this time, her quick hand darting up to snag Val’s before she could snatch it back. Val might have been stronger, but Furiosa was faster, and that slightly smug thought made her grin even more.

“Thanks, Val. You’re the best.” She pressed her friend’s hand to her cheek, a comforting, grateful gesture that she was probably too old for, and hurriedly let go.

“Have _fun_ Furi! And tell me all about it when you get back!” With a little wave, not at all subconscious about Furiosa’s motion, Valkyrie bounded away, quickly disappearing amongst the tents, leaving the younger girl to stare after her with amusement and some frustration. She wished she could brush off the roam as easily as Val had.  

At least Mary – at least her mother didn’t keep her waiting much longer after that. Furiosa spotted her, surrounded, as always, by a small group of people looking for advice or just a few words. Mary was the youngest Great Mother at the moment, but she was well loved by everyone in the Swaddle Dog clan. In fact, as far as Furiosa was aware, all the people of the Many Mothers respected her. After all, she wouldn’t have been a Great Mother if she wasn’t respected.

The tension was back, and Furiosa found herself observing the woman walking towards her with a mixture of reluctance, longing, admiration and something that was harder to name. Something that she felt when she saw Katie and Valkyrie and Phil, but a little different. She’d last seen her mother two weeks ago, but it seemed like the Great Mother had somehow grown in that time.

There could be no doubt, Mary was intimidating. She stood over most of the women and even some of the men, and she’d yet to replace her warrior attire with something more befitting a person of her rank. Her thick hair and strong forehead were covered by a rough brown shawl, but her wraps didn’t hide the gun strapped across her back, the prowling confidence in each step her booted feet took, in the strength of her arms as she hefted a heavy looking pack across her shoulder. It was like being approached by a goddess straight from the stories that Phil told every other night, and she was dismayed.

Valkyrie was crazy. Furiosa would _never_ be better than that!

For all of her inner panic, she kept her face as still as she could manage, like Katie said she should, and when at last her mother stood before her, the clan members politely dismissed, she met her calm eyes unflinchingly.

A shadow passed over Mary’s face, a sound that might have been a sigh shifted her shoulders. But nothing of that showed when she warmly said, “My sweet Furiosa. How many fights have you gotten into since I left?”

Lifting her chin, not sure if she was being reprimanded or not, Furiosa replied, “Two. One with Lila and another with Cecilia. Only not really with Cecilia because that was Valkyrie and I was just helping…”

Val didn’t get into fights hardly ever – that was Furiosa’s specialty – but on occasion her carefree ways got on the other children’s nerves, and then the two of them had quite a scrap on their hands. Val was good at fighting, but she didn’t like it all that much, and Furiosa was too small to help much against bigger children. It was probably a good thing they were both really good at running.     

Mary smiled, just slightly. “So, one and a half fights in two weeks? I should be congratulating Katie on keeping you out of trouble.”

“If you wanted…” With the distinct feeling of being a child in an adult situation, Furiosa crossed her arms, imitating the way Katie stood when she was sizing up a situation. It only helped a little, and she felt silly when Mary laughed.

“I think I will, then. When I see her next. Now, are you ready for your first roam?”

Furiosa ducked her head and nodded, directing her scowl to her feet while her hand gestured at the bag she’d prepared.

“Furiosa…?”

Her mother’s questioning, gentle tone lifted her eyes, and the young girl sighed, just a little petulantly. Why couldn’t she lie better with her face? Mary always knew when something was bothering her, and they weren’t even close!

“It’s not my first roam,” she muttered. “I… went out with Sang’s group.”

“With Sang’s…?” After a moment, the Great Mother’s confused expression cleared, and she laughed again. “You’re talking about when you snuck into one of the convoy trucks with Sang’s expedition? Well, I guess that does count as your first roam. You’re practically an expert now, hmm?”

Furiosa was surprised Mary remembered. She certainly did. Katie hadn’t been about to let her forget. It had been almost two months ago, and she was still on sweeping duty every other day, plus regular training! Grudgingly, Furiosa could admit she’d done wrong by slipping after the war party, making everyone worry… but that didn’t mean she hated brooms any less by the end of the two months. Nothing had happened, anyways! One of Sang’s crew had caught her, brought her back, all within a few hours! And she’d had to brush away the sand from the paths and tents and building for two months, just for that!

Some of her outrage must have shown, because Mary reached out, hesitated for a moment, and then ruffled her hair. “Can I tell you a secret?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “I recently spoke to your initiate mother, and she said that if you do well today – follow my every order – she’ll let you stop sweeping. Sound fair?”

For the first time since her mother had appeared, Furiosa moved completely naturally. She nodded so eagerly it felt like her head might fall off her neck, and had snatched up her bag and was pressing it into Mary’s hands before she entirely realized what she was doing. The Great Mother reacted entirely easily, like it wasn’t important – the child missed her pleased hum – and began to rifle through the sack, checking the contents. Eventually she handed it back, and Furiosa had almost forgotten to be nervous in her excitement about being let off her punishment.

“Perfect, my dear. You have everything. Now, Katie told you where we’ll be going?”

“Towards the canyons,” the young girl replied confidently, not quite realizing how her mother was manipulating her towards relaxing. “Near the Rock Riders’ border… but definitely not over it!” Showing off her knowledge – showing she at least knew _something_ – was a balm for her nerves, and she stood a little straighter, expectantly.

Mary didn’t disappoint. She nodded sharply, clapped her hands. “Looks like you are really ready to go. I think we’ll head out straight away.”

And one thing Furiosa knew about her mother – one thing it felt like she’d always known – was that once a decision was made, Mary got it done. Her shorter legs pumping to keep up with the Great Mother, she hurried along in her mother’s shadow, watching from under her lashes as Mary greeted the people they passed, shifting on the balls on her feet when they paused briefly to speak with Axle, one of the gatherers who had only recently married into the Swaddle Dog clan.

“Leaving so soon, Great Mother?” he asked amiably, a bag of greens swung over his shoulder and dirt caked on his fingers as he made the traditional sign of respect.

“Not just yet, Axle,” her mother replied. “I’m taking Furiosa on her first – well, on a roam.”

The man’s gaze swept frankly towards her, and Furiosa met it boldly, almost indifferently. This man she had no worries about impressing. He laughed. “I can see you’ll have no problems with someone so fierce to protect you. Does she always glare like that?”

Her mother’s voice… changed. It wasn’t unfriendly, not at all, but there was a warning there nonetheless. “You’ll soon learn, I think, that Furi’s glare is the dullest thing about her. I wouldn’t test her goodwill... but that’s just me.” At the same time her hip moved, giving Furiosa a gentle nudge, and Furiosa dropped her sharp stare, not quite understanding Mary’s words, knowing she was being rude but unable to shake the feeling her mother had somehow praised her.

He took it good naturedly. “Not interested in treading toes, that’s for sure. Especially not the toes of a Great Mother and her furious daughter. I hope you have a good roam, Furiosa, but I best be off.” The curtesy of addressing her directly caught Furiosa off guard, and she blushed and nodded awkwardly while Axle repeated his first gesture to Mary and left.

And then there was no one left to talk to, and they made it to the lean-to that sheltered the smaller vehicles without any more words. At twelve, the children of the tribe would be allowed to ride the motorcycles with limited observation by adults, but for now she clambered up behind her mother on a bike that had been prepared for them. At first she tried to grab at the seat, but when Mary made a reproving sound she shifted to hold the older woman more securely around her waist, feeling absurdly grateful to be allowed such an anchor.

Mary had just kicked the bike into roaring life – the thunder of it under her made Furiosa grin – when a voice, words not clear, hailed them. Scowling, the girl pulled away from her mother enough to see who was disrupting them when they were _finally_ on their way.

It was Katie. Furiosa relaxed. “Great Mother, Furiosa,” the muscular woman called as she approached, her short legs eating the ground between them. When she slid to a halt, her lined face was stoic as usual, but seconds later she broke into a slender smile. “I apologize for the interruption, Mary, but Valkyrie yanked Furiosa away so quickly yesterday I forgot to give her the seed.”

Far from being put out by the informal address, Mary seemed to welcome it. “It’s no trouble, Katie. I’m glad you remembered before we made our escape.”

Her head dipped, and Furiosa’s initiate mother turned to her trainee and adopted a much sterner voice, loud over the rumble of the engine. “Child, we live in a harsh time.”

“We are blessed by the Green Place,” Furiosa replied solemnly, the oft said words coming easy to her tongue.

“The sands erode all that is living.”

“We must protect the Green Place.”

“But what is living cannot easily be swept away.”

“We will help the Green Place grow.”

“And so we will be blessed by the Green Place.” Katie’s smile was gone, but the pride in her dark eyes shone clearly, something that had taken Furiosa time to see. She saw it now, and when her initiate mother extended her hand, holding something in a loose fist, it was with excitement and curiosity that the young child held her palm up.

Katie dropped a small bag with a thong attached into her hand. “This,” she explained gravely, “is a tree seed. It is up to you to plant it and see what it grows into. Equally, it is up to you to find a place where the seed can grow and it is up to you to try and help it flourish whenever you can. Whether you find that place today, or ten years from now, does not matter. Carry it around your neck, a piece of the Green Place, and know you are helping us all grow.”

Some of the sombreness of the words were lost on Furiosa, but nonetheless she deftly tied the bag around her neck, tugging extra hard on the strings to insure it was tight. Not sure what to say, after a second of hesitation, torn between her mother and Katie, she flung caution to the winds and leaned over and gave the short woman a hug. For a moment, her initiate mother only caught her, helping her balance, but then something changed and she was enveloped in wiry arms and the scent of gasoline and sweat.

“Do me proud,” Katie murmured in her ear, and that couldn’t possibly be a break in her voice, could it?

No, it couldn’t, because they were quickly untangling from each other, and Furiosa once again wrapped her thin arms around Mary, not quite sure why she had a lump in her throat and determined not to show it. Without another word, Katie stepped away and gave a wave. Mary opened the throttle and the bike shuddered into motion like something alive. Its roar peaked, invading her eardrums with an almost-pressure, and then they were off.

It felt… comfortable. Surprisingly so. The motorcycle’s noise made conversation not worth the effort of shouting, and Furiosa was happy to daringly press her face against her mother’s back, or pull back, shift her scarf over her mouth and enjoy the feel of the wind whipping at her face and hair. They followed a straight track for a long time, the sand was minimal, and with the warmth and strength of Mary to hold on to, she had no real concerns. With all the steadfastness of a child, her worry about how she would do was stripped away by the wind, and she simply enjoyed the chance to travel with someone who was… well, who was her mother.

Of course, the trip could not last forever. As the verdant growth on either side of the road began to diminish, craggy trees and clinging bushes taking their place, Mary slowed the vehicle to a halt, kicked the stand and then turned to face Furiosa.

Who was actually smiling, the flash of her teeth clear against her unusually flushed skin. Startled but incredibly gratified, Mary returned the look with interest. “You’re quite the rider,” she complimented her daughter, aware that she was laying it on thick but unable to resist. “You move very well with the bike.” So it was a little much. So what? Her relationship with Furiosa wasn’t ideal – her title as Great Mother assured that – but she could still enjoy her daughter’s abilities and happiness.

And Furiosa seemed to appreciate it. Her hazel eyes blinked, seemingly taken aback, before the smile faded into childishly grave acceptance of the compliment. Her heart beat picked up, but it had nothing to do with anxiety this time around. She almost couldn’t believe the Great Mother – her mother – was complimenting her!

“We’re going off road now,” Mary said, some of the exuberance wearing away. “We’ll travel the perimeter, and I want you to keep your eyes wide and say if you notice anything. We’ll find a good place to camp out and see what else we can find.”

Furiosa nodded, and once again the bike was brought to life under them. She had to cling more tightly to Mary now. The path they traveled hardly deserved the name and each bump made her stomach jolt and drop, while the sharp turns around grizzled shrubbery had her arms tightening in spastic fear. After the first few minutes, once she got used to the sensations, Furiosa found herself wishing her mother would go faster, just a little bit. She found herself wondering what actually steering the bike would be like.

They had broken through a thick patch of growth when Furiosa first noticed the dust plume, ahead and far to the left. She couldn’t have said how long it had been on the horizon – she’d been sunk deep into her fantasies of controlling the bike. Reflexively she craned her neck, trying to keep it in sight, and it wavered a little, making her frown. Katie had taught her all about the mirages you could see if you were tired and thirsty out in the desert. Was this what she’d been talking about?

Her mother sensed her movement and partially turned. “See something?” her voice pealed out strongly over the motorcycle, and Furiosa paused, frown deepening.

She couldn’t see the plume anymore… and what if it hadn’t been dust? Wouldn’t her Great Mother have seen it if it was real? What if it was a mirage? Would she fail her very first roam if she got fooled by a stupid illusion? Val would have a field day, probably. And what would Katie say? What would _Mary_ say? Her mother actually seemed proud, but if her daughter failed at a roam, that couldn’t possibly keep up…

“Furiosa?”

Glad that Mary couldn’t turn to see her face, Furiosa cleared her throat and yelled, as loudly as she could, “Nothing! It’s nothing.”

They continued to ride, unease prickling in the pit of her stomach. It was probably a mirage. Just a trick of the sun on her eyes. Only… only she wasn’t tired or really thirsty. And she’d never been prone to seeing things before. But Mary hadn’t seen anything, and if she was wrong… The argument swirled back and forth in her head, and several times the girl opened her mouth only to snap it shut a moment later.

Her restlessness was just beginning to fade when the spear she never saw hit their front tire, jerking the motorcycle off balance and causing it to careen wildly to the side. Her relaxed grip nowhere near tight enough, Furiosa was thrown clear. She was aware of a heady sensation of flying through the air – the pain of skidding, rolling across the ground – a flare of agony in her shoulder – and then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos! This one has got a little more Furiosa being Furiosa, but also a little bit more heartbreak. Was kinda hard to write, but hope you enjoy it!

_Katie once told me that bruises are a gentle reminder of the mistakes we’ve made. Gentle because, unlike many consequences, they don’t last forever. She was right. Bruises are easy. It’s the mistakes that leave scars that are hard. You can ignore them – forget them for a time – but they’re always on your skin. Under it. I have become very good at ignoring my scars._

_They say, after all, that experience is the greatest of teachers._

She woke with her heartbeat spiking, sand drying out her tongue and a strange buzzing in her ears. For a long, panicked moment her limbs were deaf to her commands and remained still, and a queer sound squeezed out of her tight throat as her muscles refused to flex. She thrashed and – suddenly broke the invisible chains on her body, flinging herself into a seated positon and gasping at the hurt that shuddered across her form. It felt like there wasn’t one part of her that hadn’t been scraped or crushed in some way or another.

“Furiosa! Furiosa, calm down, calm, calm, it’s alright, it’s alright.” The rock steady voice made no indent on her blank mental slate and Furiosa twisted, struggling away from the hands now grabbing at her shoulders, stroking across her brow. It wasn’t until she caught sight of a blurred face – haggard, swollen, bloody – that the accident slammed back into her brain, making her freeze as a layer of guilt slid over her. The dust plume…

“Mom?” Her question rasped horribly, and she swallowed against the harshness of it. “What -”

“She’s finally awake? Took her long enough!”

Unfamiliar, the tones opened – really opened – Furiosa’s eyes, and she saw what she hadn’t noticed before. They were surrounded by several people, men, all dressed in the reddish brown colours of the Rock Riders. Their thin bikes stood silent and ominous on all sides, and to the far right she could make out their own, larger motorcycle. She blinked, trying and failing to bring everything into focus. There was something wrong with her eyes and she rubbed at them before dropping her hands in defeat.

Everything was blurry, splotched with black. Her head hurt like something was squeezing around it. That didn’t matter so much as the nausea in her stomach, and when she found herself being hauled to her feet by a callous hand, Furiosa doubled over, breaking out of the grip. Mary’s voice drummed against her temples.

“I told you Ivor, wait! She’s not -”

“We’ve waited long enough. You said, when she’s awake. Well, she’s up now and we’re leaving.”

“You can’t mo-”

A dull thud seemed terribly loud in her ears, and Mary fell silent for a long time while Furiosa stared at the red sand at their feet, struggling not to throw up. When her words came again, Furiosa thought they seemed… flat. Suppressed. Like when two initiate mothers were arguing about something but didn’t want the children to know that it was an argument.

“Furi, I need you to get up now.”

Get up? Even the thought of it had her cringing inside, her head hurting so bad she couldn’t try and pretend that it didn’t.

“It hurts,” she said quietly, fingers pressing into her thighs, vaguely aware that she didn’t want the men around them to hear. Aware that her mother wouldn’t want her to complain.

“I know sweetie. I know. You bumped your head when you fell off the motorcycle, I think you have a concussion. But it’s going to start feeling better soon, I promise. I just need you to get up.”

In the background, Furiosa thought she could hear some of the Rock Riders talking. Unless it was her imagination. A mirage, like the one she saw before. Only… only that hadn’t really been a mirage, had it?

“We should have just left her here. What a waste of time.”

“You been chewing sulphur? Leave her and we ain’t gonna have hardly anything to show for this road trip.”

“The older bitc-”

“Seen her dusting leg? She ain’t for this world.”

“I still say…”

Her concentration broke and the conversation drifted away, light as a breeze, leaving an annoying emptiness in her ears. The dizziness was growing. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; it helped dull the ache in her skull a little. She found Mary’s arm wrapped around her waist and with that support Furiosa managed to find her feet. There was a sharp noise, a gasp of pain, and the young girl blearily wondered if she’d been the one who made it. But no –

Mary’s body was shaking, and even in her confusion Furiosa could tell her mother wasn’t standing normally. Concern was a light barely seen in the murky fog of her rattled mind, but Furiosa leaned away from the supporting, trembling hands of the Great Mother, striving to maintain her balance as the dizziness surged and ebbed like the tide she’d only heard stories about. Mary’s breath rattled out, seemingly in relief, and the light became brighter, a fire burning away some of the mist with the strength of her worry.

“Mother…” She tried to find questions, apologies, words, anything, but her brain was empty. Mary clutched at her hand reassuringly and seemed about to say something, but one of the men was approaching, a rope held in his hands.

“Hands,” he ordered in a clipped voice, and it was with muted shock that Furiosa saw Mary obey, holding out her wrists in a gesture so compliant it made the girl want to scream. She’d never seen Mary look anything more than respectful, and that was only towards the other Great Mothers. Why would she submit so easily? Why?

Stumbling through her head, Katie’s words about alliances and allies and enemies. Words about the Rock Riders, who could be traded with on occasion but not trusted, who were known to take scavengers and the homeless as forced laborers until they died, who were as hard as the rocks they road over. Or had that last bit been Valkyrie’s words, whispered too loudly whilst watching a few of the Rock Riders deal with their clan?

She couldn’t find it in herself to remember, not now, but she was afraid.

The man, finished tying her mom’s wrists together, made to reach for her own and Furiosa yanked them away, lips twisting in an automatic scowl. She didn’t see his fist but Mary must have, because she moved between them and took the vicious blow across her shoulder with a grunt and nothing more.

That was… that was _wrong._ Furiosa felt her eyes widening in incredulity, and the seriousness of the situation came abruptly crashing into the pit of her stomach. This was like what Jez was always saying to Valkyrie, about there being people who wanted to _hurt_ them, that it wasn’t a _game,_ that they could _die._ Furiosa rarely needed such scolding to pay attention, but she hadn’t taken the words any more seriously than Val had. She hadn’t said anything about the dust. She was too young to imagine…

To imagine a world where a man would hit her mother, and then again and again, and be about to continue when another of the Rock Riders intervened, his sharp yell freezing the fist that rose and fell so readily.

“Dusting _stones,_ you as stupid as you look Dom? Were you about to hit the girl who’s got her head rattled? Thank the gods her mother ain’t as stupid as you! We want a useful body, not a sack of drooling piss!”

The man doing the yelling stormed over, his fists clenched, and she watched numbly as he shoved the other Rock Rider away from Mary, who had sunk to one knee. “Don’t lay another hand on either of ‘em unless you got permission, you feel that? Or I’ll take your dusting hand and shove it higher than the sun has ever shined!”

She still couldn’t focus on facial features – trying made her head hurt worse – but Furiosa knew the other man was angry. His voice grumbled like thunder when he replied.

“Was just tying their hands like you said Ivor. Little greenie wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh, well, that clears that up Dom! You got bested by a pebble! Do me a favor though, yeah? Next time a little girl ain’t keen on you, punch a _rock_ instead.” They faced each other in deafening silence for three seconds… four… five… and then Dom spat and stalked away, and the dull terror clutching at her eased. Back to just being afraid.

The other man turned to Mary. “Anything else broken?” he asked briefly, and somehow she had expected his voice to be softer now that he wasn’t shouting. It wasn’t.

She shook her head. “Not from that,” the Great Mother replied, heaving to her feet with the help of her bound hands, and Furiosa felt an appalling mix of pride and alarm. Pride, because her mother’s voice was so, so steady, and alarm because her left leg… it looked wrong. Someone had ripped away the fabric up to her thigh, and that same fabric was bound around a spot just under her knee, a spot that bulged where it shouldn’t. The cloth was dark, stained, and Furiosa might have been young but even she knew that that was blood.

And she knew, too, that she was going to throw up.

With a desperate motion she pushed away from Mary and the Rock Rider as her world tilted sideways, fell to her knees and began to heave, her stomach lurching in pitiful attempts to leave her body. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, too nervous before the roam, but her dinner from the day before was assuredly still there, and her lunch too, it felt like. It took forever to finish, and her eyes slipped closed, one hand braced against the ground for balance, sweat drenching her back and tears forming in the corners of her eyes even as Mary rubbed her shoulders, whispering words she couldn’t understand through the rocking turmoil of her head injury.

It did finish, though. When minutes had gone by and nothing more came up, Furiosa wiped a shaking hand across her mouth and stood, shame coursing through her veins. She felt – better, almost, but the thought of looking Mary in the eye was an impossibility, and so she stared at the ground instead.

“Sorry,” she all but whispered, and her mom laughed, a sharp, ragged sound that had nothing to do with amusement.

“No, Furiosa. No. Don’t you be sorry for this.”

That seemed to spark something in Ivor, and he grunted. “Look at the two of you. ‘Supposed to walk behind the bikes? I don’t think so.” He walked away, muttering, only to return a few minutes later with another one of the Rock Riders.

“This is Rand,” he said of the short man he’d brought. “We’re leaving now. Like I said, you clearly ain’t gonna be walking – ever, probably – and your girlie ain’t much better, so we’ll double up.” His tone was still hoarse, hard, and Furiosa didn’t have time to be relieved about not having to walk before it became harder still. “You’ll come with me. Rand’ll take the girl. You listen real close now, greenie. This is already a dusting mess and I’m in a mood. Try anything, anything at all, and I’m gonna throw my hands up and let the others see how fast you can fall down a cliff. You feel that?”

Which is when the tears Furiosa had been frantically pushing back came forth, shoved by a surge of terror and disbelief stronger than anything she’d ever experienced before. She didn’t cry, not really. She just let the tears noiselessly fall, leaving little tracts in the dirt and blood she was unaware were smeared across her face. Neither adult noticed and she might have been pleased, except that it seemed like more than water was coming from her eyes. All her emotions were streaming away, too, leaving everything duller than it had ever been, leaving her tired and empty and so thin she was about to be swept away.

Mary’s voice had flattened again, but not as well as the first time. “I understand, Ivor. I told you already; I’m not going to endanger her. Considering my leg, this,” she held up her bound wrists, “is a little unnecessary.”

“Considering you’re Mary Jo Bassa, that’s dusting staying where it is.”

Rand moved, just a little, and the movement attracted Furiosa’s glassy stare. Her sight was improving; now the black splotches were little dots, the warped pictures finally finding their place. This Rock Rider didn’t have his face covered with a scarf like the others. He was beardless, and, she thought, young. Not young like her. But not like the others, either.

And he was going to take her away from Mary. She’d understood that much in the conversation.

Maybe it was her flat stare, but it seemed like he started shifting a lot more, his gaze never staying in one place for long, flying over her like she wasn’t there. Except that she couldn’t be as lucky as that.

“…you refused once already. I ain’t kind enough to offer three times, not even if you fall off the damn bike.”

She’d missed some of the conversation – her ears hadn’t seemed to work entirely right since she woke – and Furiosa found them operational again without interest.

“I – yes. I’ll take some.”

“No wonder they call you smart. Rand, go grab three from my bike. Right pocket, the small one.”

The young Rock Rider was back within moments and he handed something to her mother, something Mary quickly - almost too quickly to see - threw into her mouth and swallowed. Furiosa thought it might have been white, but it was small and round and she didn’t know what it was. She did know that Mary gave her a short, almost guilty side glance after she was done, and licked at her lips like she’d tasted something bitter.

“Right. We’re heading out. Finally. Look, you, girl.” She found Ivor talking to her directly, the first time since she’d woken, and maybe she wasn’t quite deadened yet because her heart skipped a few beats before settling into an uncomfortably fast pace.

Furiosa kept one eye on him, the other on Mary, desperately looking for cues. Her mother smiled, nodded in what was supposed to be a reassuring way. Furiosa could now see the deep lines of anguish sunk into the skin around her mouth, the stark paleness of her normally dusky face, the sheen of sweat and the awkward way she stood. The nod was not very reassuring.

Ivor continued. “You’re gonna ride behind Rand. Don’t mess with him, your mom don’t want that. I ain’t gonna tie you up ‘cause I trust you got your mom’s brain and ain’t about to do nothing stupid that would make me mad. Am I right ‘bout that?”

She remembered what had happened to Mary the last time she’d acted on instinct, acted in defiance. Biting at her lip, she nodded shallowly.

“Good.” Ivor turned away, raised his hand in a fist. “Riders,” he yelled in a voice that abruptly boomed out, catching the attention of those who had wandered away to attend their bikes and pass the time. “We’re hitting the dusty road, taking the long way. Less patrols. Keep low, keep close, and for the love of all that’s good in this world, _don’t get seen_. We’ll be screwed if the greenies catch us, keep that on your minds, least ‘til we’re out of here.”

He walked away and she felt someone grab her wrist in a grip that was firm but not cruel. It was Rand, giving her a mute tug before she could react one way or another. Again her lips pulled back, but this time Furiosa remained still, docile, and he nodded and dropped her arm, trailed a few paces away. Obviously, she was supposed to follow.

She looked to Mary. “You can go with him, Furi. We’re still together. We’ll see each other again. But Furiosa…”

Her mother’s lips were tight, and Furiosa wasn’t sure if she was shaking, or if that was just her head injury talking. “Please be careful. Hold on tightly, and don’t get off unless he tells you it’s safe, okay? Be careful.”

Her first two steps were staggered, unbalanced, but then she somewhat got a hold of herself and five or six steps later she was in Mary’s arms, tears gone from her face but boiling in her gut. Her mom bent, Furiosa rose up on tiptoes, and they touched foreheads, Mary’s hand around the back of her neck pulling Furiosa closer, and a lump was in her throat full of words she wanted to say, needed to say, and couldn’t quite manage.

She tried anyways. “Mom,” she rasped, “before they got us. I saw – a dust cloud. You said to keep watch and I did but I didn’t do it right and they got us and -”

Mary’s breath was warm and soft as it puffed out over her face. “Shh,” the Great Mother whispered. “I love you. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I love you. Remember that.”

Once again the tears spilled over, and Furiosa had to hold back a sob, had to stop herself from breaking down and crying like the child she wasn’t so far from being. Instead the girl heaved in a quavering breath and said in a voice that threatened to crack, “I love you too. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Reluctantly they separated, flotsam pulled apart by the current, and Mary turned her in the direction of Rand, who hovered uncertainly nearby. No more words were spoken, and the Great Mother pushed her gently his way. Furiosa went numbly, feet dragging across the sand, and couldn’t find it in herself to look back as he led her to his bike and helped her mount before swinging up in front of her. She kept her eyes on her shaking hands and wondered why it felt like saying goodbye.

Mary, once she was sure Furiosa was settled, twisted around and made her hobbled way over to Ivor’s motorcycle. Each step set the coals smoldering in her leg to burning, sizzling life, the fire almost enough to send her to her knees. The painkillers were doing… enough. Just enough to keep her from collapsing, enough for her to get to Ivor, enough to let him help her onto the bike.

He was still hoping she’d live, she knew. She was trying to convince herself of that same hope. Her practical side whispered doubts. Her bone had broken through the skin when it snapped, and it had been caked with dirt. Even with care, there was no easy fix for such a thing. No guarantee. The ride… it would be agony. Every second the motorcycle shuddered was going to be a second her leg was wrenched, hurting it, hurting her.  

That wasn’t the reason for the stinging moisture in her eyes, though.

\---

The first day was short and hellish. They only stopped twice for water, and no food. At least, not for her. The motorcycle wasn’t smooth, and every bounce sent knives careening through her skull, made her stomach try and spill out what simply wasn’t there. Furiosa clutched at Rand so tightly he couldn’t lean very well, and that made the ride worse, added a gut wrenching skitter every so often that made her think they were about to crash. She couldn’t help it, though. Mary had said to hold on tight, and that was what she would do.

Besides, she didn’t want to be thrown off. Not again. Not like last time.

They travelled near the back of the group, and by the time the sun had drifted down, pushing the desert into shadows, the advance group had already set up camp. When their motorcycle slid into the circle of men, she saw that her mother was on the ground near Ivor’s bike, shifting and mumbling. She flung herself away from Rand, uncaring of his startled reaction, ignoring the sour grumbling of the Rock Riders, the sharp words from Ivor that quieted them. Her heart was a small bird beating desperately at her chest, and there was nothing and no one to calm it as she spilled into the sand next to her mother.

Mary was unconscious even though her mouth never stopped moving. The bandage around her leg had been replaced with more scraps, torn this time from the shoulder of her shirt, but it was also dirty and bloodied. A canteen was nearby – filled a quarter-full with water – but the Great Mother clearly hadn’t had a chance to drink. Her lips were split and dry.

Helplessly Furiosa clutched at the slack flask, her red rimmed eyes never leaving Mary’s face. She didn’t know what to do. Try and pour some down her mother’s throat? But what if she choked? Should she try and wake her?

“Mom – Mary?” she choked out, but the woman was insensate, the proud, weathered face not reacting even when Furiosa shook her shoulder, gently at first and then harder. She was breathing hard, a labored sound that grated on Furiosa’s ears, and the words she mumbled were nonsense sounds.

“Leave her be girl.” That from Ivor, who towered over her, his boots kicking up dust as he restlessly shifted. She ignored him, her fingers clutching at her mother with all the desperation of someone gripping the edge of a cliff.

“Girl.” A warning, deep and smoldering, but Furiosa was too submerged in her anguish to heed it. She paid for it a moment later when the boot thudded into her side. Not as hard as it could have been – not nearly as hard – but she was as a small, thin child, and the blow robbed her breath from her lungs even as it cast her into the sand.

She lied there for a moment, cheek pressed into the still-warm ground, her ribs throbbing where the boot had struck. It took her time, but eventually Furiosa sucked in her breath, pushed herself back onto her knees, her fingers brushing away the sand stuck to her sweat stained skin. Her eyes, striving for expressionlessness and failing, turned to the Rock Rider. He squatted down.

“Lemme tell you the short of it, ‘cause your mom apparently didn’t. Might still pull through. She might not. Either way, she’s gone to you. You ain’t gonna be with her any more. Sooner you accept that, better things’ll be. Now drink the water, wipe that glare off your face and stop pestering her, you feel that?”

Ivor didn’t wait for her response, just got up and left. Anyways, she had no response to give. The water had fallen from her grasp, and she picked it up, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe – or maybe that was just her ribs. Her other hand pushed back the hair plastered to her mother’s forehead as the older woman tossed restlessly, and her breath whooshed out when she made contact with Mary’s skin. It was burning to the touch, hot, too hot.

Katie’s voice was like a soft song in her head. _Fever is a sign of infection. If you ever get cut, wash it immediately. If, later, the area gets hot, hurts a lot or swells, come to us right away. Fevers can be very, very bad, understand?_

Staring at the incomprehension of the woman who had been such an overwhelmingly vigorous part of her life, Furiosa thought that, finally, she did.

\---

The second day was worse. For reasons she couldn’t ask about, the Rock Riders hadn’t let her sleep the whole night. When, hours after Ivor’s conversation with her, she’d found herself nodding off, Rand had shaken her awake. He and two of the other Rock Riders took shifts, always prodding at her with their hands or boots, always driving away sleep. By the time the sun crept up, spilling its rays over their camp, she couldn’t even appreciate how desolate the desert looked when it was bereft of shrubbery.

She’d thought that parts of the Green Place were sparse, ugly even. It was nothing compared to the barren stretch of sand that stretched out in all directions, broken only by a towering collection of rocks that rose up in the far distance ahead of them. It was like the outside was trying to mimic how she felt on the inside.

Mary hadn’t woken at all and she’d stopped her thrashing. In the morning, when Ivor discovered Furiosa hadn’t had any of the water, he scowled and upended the container on Mary’s face while Dom and another man vehemently protested. Her mom didn’t react, and Ivor remarked, “Saving it didn’t do her much dusting good, did it?” before walking away.

She watched the water wash some of the dirt from her mother’s face as it dripped down, and tried not to think about how dry her throat was, about the headache beating at her temples. She didn’t succeed, but later, after they’d travelled for several hours, Rand wordlessly handed her a half full bottle. She drank it all, and he made no move to stop her. She didn’t thank him.

Silence and dread were her travelling companions more than the Rock Riders. They didn’t speak to her, just shoved her this way and that. Sometimes, if Ivor’s bike got close enough, she could see her mother’s body thrown face down behind him, wrists and ankles strapped precariously to the bike. She seemed too small a bundle.

Time passed. Furiosa let it flow around her, her mind mechanically blank, too tired to think and too emotional to see. Her fingers clutched tenaciously at the hem of Rand’s shirt until they ached, and then until they were numb. Eventually, night came, and with it the canyons she’d seen earlier that day. She hadn’t noticed, but the riders had taken their time with the desert crossing, frequently backtracking, taking smaller paths that meandered instead of flowing straight to their camp. It didn’t matter much to her either way. Nothing did.

When they stopped, bikes shoved into a small alcove, she blindly followed Rand through a series of caves, ignoring the multitude of new faces. The area he led her to contained her mother, and that was all she cared about. Fatigue weighing around her limbs, she collapsed next to Mary, eyes fluttering with exhaustion. Rand handed her another bottle of water, and she tried to trickle it into her mother’s mouth, awkwardly cradling her head back. It didn’t seem to do any good, and afraid to do more harm, she soon stopped and curled up, pressing against Mary’s side and thinking, vaguely hopeful, that her body didn’t seem hot anymore.

She fell asleep, and no one tried to stop her.

\---

The third day Furiosa experienced from somewhere above herself, looking down with a detachment that didn’t connect to the broken little girl scrabbling in the dirt far below. She had awoken and stretched, the sinuous movement feeling good even as it hurt her bruised body. Sometime during the night she’d rolled away from Mary, and, realizing that, turned to see how she was doing.

It was strange, she would later think, how dead bodies were so much different than living ones. She knew, instantly, without doubt, that the corpse lying in the corner of the cave wasn’t her mother. Not anymore. That didn’t stop her from rushing to her side, didn’t stop her from clutching the body and shaking and shaking and shaking until she couldn’t tell if it was her or the world that was breaking apart.

“Mother, mother, Mary, please no, I’m sorry, please, I’m scared, I didn’t mean to lie, please don’t leave me, please, _please…_ ” And on and on and on, unhindered by Rand, watching from the mouth of the cave, or later by Ivor, who came and exchanged some few words with Rand whilst never taking his eyes from her.

Her short sentences shuddered out, broke down into words. Words became meaningless noises until all she could do was sob softly, the wretched sound wrenching every single bone in her body until it felt like she must have, somewhere, come undone. Even after those abated, still she whimpered, uncaring of pride or stoicism or being strong. There was no one left to be strong for. Under her trembling hands, Mary’s body rapidly cooled, began to grow stiff. Eventually she moved away from it, unable to pretend in some part of her mind that her mother might suddenly get better.

Time was meaningless. Hunger, thirst, hurts… all of it blended into a grey mass that she disregarded in favor of the grief and guilt gnawing on her insides. Hours or days or weeks after her world ended, Furiosa flung herself into the oblivion of sleep.

Her last thought was to hope that she never woke up.    


End file.
